


a handful of seeds

by vaudelin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Mary Winchester Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: Dean paused in his chopping. He swiped the green pepper chunks into a neat pile on the cutting board. He was running out of excuses to make. Weakly, he asked, “Where would I even keep a garden?”Cas, sensing victory, rose up in height. “Behind the bunker entrance, in the patch of earth lined by mulberry bushes.”Dean cursed, caught out. “Why’d you even bother to ask, if you already knew?”Softening, Cas gave a small smile. “I’d like to add to it, if that’s okay.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 207





	a handful of seeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aeli_kindara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeli_kindara/gifts).



> It hardly counts for much, but this fic stems from my love of your fics, Maria. We are blessed for having you in our fandom ❤❤❤

How Dean stumbled into growing a garden was apparently by accident. He certainly hadn’t set out to start one. Something as permanent, as helpless, as a garden really wasn’t part of his nomadic style.

The initial growth wasn’t even his fault. The only reason Dean had approached the pumpkins at all was because the colors had caught him, this late in the fall. Vibrant orange globes grew out from the brown leaves littering the sides of the back road leading out from the bunker.

Dean climbed out from the car, the engine left idling. He trudged his way down into the ditch, wondering what had caused a pumpkin patch to incongruously grow here.

It hit him, later, while he washed his face and brushed his teeth before bed. A memory of his mother, out at Donna’s cabin, the line of pumpkins on the picnic table. The splattered gourd guts littering the lawn.

Looked like Mary had made a habit of butchering pumpkins, both there and back home.

The following morning, Dean cut loose a couple of the best-looking pumpkins, brought them inside. When Sam made a show of carving faces into them, Dean made a point of pocketing a handful of the seeds before they made their way onto a roaster tray.

In the spring, Dean dug out a soft patch of earth behind the power plant atop the bunker. He threw the pumpkin seeds in and doused them with a half-finished plastic bottle of water, and left it in nature’s hands after that.

* * *

The next addition to the garden came in the form of three potted tomato plants, left wilting and abandoned in the outskirts of Lebanon.

Dean had driven out with a load of garbage to drop off at the dump. He noticed the plants for much the same reasons as he had noticed the pumpkins, the year before — bright red tomatoes hung ripe on bent vines. A total waste, in Dean’s opinion. At least pick the fruits off before throwing the plants away.

Except the tomatoes seemed fine upon closer inspection. Both the plants and the fruit. A little weak, yeah, but nothing irreversible. Whoever had tossed the plants must have been sick of watering them, that’s all.

Dean stuffed his duffel bag full of ripe tomatoes, dreaming of the fresh sandwiches and sauces they’d make.

Halfway back to the Impala, Dean was mentally counting the remaining flower buds on each plant.

There was another gallon of tomatoes on them, easy.

Without thinking too deeply about it, Dean tossed the tomato pots into passenger side wheel well, bowing their heads down to fit inside the vehicle.

* * *

“Are you growing a garden?” Cas asked him, one morning, before Sam was even awake.

Dean was in the kitchen, making an omelette. He paused in his peppers chopping to frown at Cas. “What makes you think that?”

Cas reached across the island, plucked a tomato from the fruit bowl. “These aren’t store bought. They’re too small.”

Dean snorted. “Thought you’d say too tasty. Nevermind,” he added, when Cas gave him a baleful look. “Why me?”

“Because you cook,” Cas replied, “and Sam doesn’t like to.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “A couple fresh tomatoes does not a garden make.”

“No,” Cas agreed, “but the homegrown lettuce in the fridge suggests otherwise. And the snap peas. And the tiny cucumbers you cut up for Sam’s salads.”

Dean paused in his chopping. He swiped the green pepper chunks into a neat pile on the cutting board. He was running out of excuses to make. Weakly, he asked, “Where would I even keep a garden?”

Cas, sensing victory, rose up in height. “Behind the bunker entrance, in the patch of earth lined by mulberry bushes.”

Dean cursed, caught out. “Why’d you even bother to ask, if you already knew?”

Softening, Cas gave a small smile. “I’d like to add to it, if that’s okay.”

* * *

They settled on growing vidalias. On red potatoes and spring onions. Cas brought home heirloom tomato seedlings while Dean countered with beefsteak brands. Dean drew the line at growing beets, saying he was never going to have purple shits a day in his life. Cas responded by planting a species of purple beans that turned green only once they were boiled. Dean added regular green and yellow beans to the rows out of spite.

They both considered corn, but thought the shade from the mulberries would be too much for the stalks to gain any real height. Cas compromised by digging up the wild earth beyond the berry patch, picking rocks from the packed earth and dropping them into a rough pile. Dean dutifully dragged a hoe through the dirt, and Cas dropped corn seeds along it in two-inch gaps of earth.

Kansas summers were always warm, and this one was particularly dry. By time the high noon of June rolled around, Dean was feeling pretty stupid for expanding his little dirt patch out ten times its original width.

“Fucking tired of hauling water,” Dean complained to Cas, while they were both dragging five-gallon pails out to the mulberry bushes. (Dean, actually dragging, while Cas made a show out of pretending the paltry pail needed even a fraction of his strength.)

“So run a hose,” Cas replied. “I saw tutorial videos online.”

“So did I,” Dean said. “Problem is the bunker is locked up so tight, there’s no exterior water line to tap into.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully. “Show me the best place to try it.”

Dean mulled it over, then directed Cas inside to show him exactly where the water lay.

* * *

“What the hell is going on?” Sam shouted, above the bunker’s sirens. The emergency lights blared red across him, illuminating and distorting his angry face.

“Don’t blame me.” Dean shot an accusatory finger at Cas, though he was unrecognizable through the dust and debris yet clouding the air. “Blame him.”

Cas emerged from the dust cloud, the tips of his hair frosted white with powdered concrete. “I took care of the wall. We need a shovel to clear the rest of the way.”

“Why are you guys knocking down walls?” Sam shouted.

“We’re making a garden,” shouted Cas.

“What?” Sam shouted back.

“A garden!”

“ _What_?”

Dean sighed loudly, though it couldn’t be heard over the alarm’s screeching blare.

* * *

“Can’t believe you’re a gardener now.” Sam scoffed, surveying their little patch of rich green amid the blond, grassy field. “Let me see your fingers. Any green thumbs yet?”

“Har har,” Dean grumbled, swiping back his hands. He righted the seam of his work gloves, tightening his grip on the pitchfork. “You picking potatoes or not?”

Sam mimed zipping his lips, then collected the green five-gallon pail Dean had purloined for this very purpose. Cas was already miles ahead of them, having dug up the first three potato hills in each row. His coat and suit jacket were off, hung on the handles of a wheelbarrow. His white shirt was lightly powdered earthy brown and pollen green.

The water sprinkler spritzed at a distance, urging on the corn stalks growing along the far rows. Beyond them lay the sprawling piles of pumpkins Dean had planted on a whim, a bright patch of pale gourds growing darker orange.

Everything, in that moment, reminded him of Mary.

Cas swiped a bare forearm across his mouth, giving Dean a faint smile that matched the crinkles at his eyes. Dean felt warm without needing to. The day’s heat would get him yet.


End file.
